


Model Behavior

by bleep0bleep



Series: Model Behavior [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Werewolves, Artist Stiles, Awkwardness, Bottom Derek Hale, Humor, M/M, Misunderstandings, Model Derek, Nude Modeling, Nudity, Public Nudity, Top Stiles Stilinski
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-08
Updated: 2014-05-30
Packaged: 2018-01-11 03:21:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1168050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bleep0bleep/pseuds/bleep0bleep
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles flops his head onto his drawing table now, smudging his nose on the pencil graphite. It’s no use. He can draw Benjamin’s face by heart, but below the neck remains an impossible white space.</p><p>Stiles’ phone rings. “Yes?”</p><p>"Oh, good, you’re home," Lydia chirps, voice beaming with satisfaction. "You’ll never believe what I found for you."</p><p>~</p><p>Alternatively, five times Stiles sees Derek naked and one time he does something about it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Exposition

**Author's Note:**

  * For [oldmanrenkas](https://archiveofourown.org/users/oldmanrenkas/gifts).



> _This work is intended for the private enjoyment of the reader. I do not give permission to this work being read aloud and/or shared with the press, or anyone working on said production of_ Teen Wolf, _including but not limited to cast, crew, writers, or producers. I also do not give permission share this work on third-party websites such as Goodreads, which I believe is a resource intended for published works outside of fandom._
> 
> ~
> 
> For renqa's prompt [here.](http://theteenagehorror.tumblr.com/post/75218132185/confession-when-i-picture-you-in-my-head-i-just-see)
> 
> I call this the "derek is naked all the time why" fic.

Stiles crumples up another drawing in frustration and throws it on the floor, where it joins countless other ruined scribbles. He just can’t get it right— and it’s supposed to be a penultimate moment for his two protagonists, Benjamin and Jake, where eight comic books’ worth of the sexual frustration, misunderstandings, crime-solving, mafia hits and ridiculous pining come to a penultimate and passionate conclusion.

Stiles groans, looking at the last panel that he’s semi-satisfied with, where Jake is undressing Benjamin. The only problem is, how to continue because Stiles has never drawn Benjamin’s body outside of his bulky officer uniform before. Stiles takes a long draw of water from his nearby bottle, trying to call up anything from his own experiences that would help, but it only reminds him of how long it’s been since he’s gotten laid.

Stiles briefly remembers the last conversation he had with Lydia, his editor. “Why can’t you just look up underwear models or something, Stiles?” she asked when he complained about his art block.

"Because I have a specific body type in mind for Benjamin, along with his face! I can’t just slap his head onto any pornstar’s body, it has to be _right_ , okay, and so far I haven’t seen it,” Stiles said. “Plus, I need references to get all the muscles and angles right, okay?”

Lydia gave him a calculating look. “I do admit that _Gunplay,_ book five is our current bestseller, and I thought hiring those models to pose for you was almost a waste.”

Stiles flops his head onto his drawing table now, smudging his nose on the pencil graphite. It’s no use. He can draw Benjamin’s face by heart, but below the neck remains an impossible white space.

Stiles’ phone rings. “Yes?”

"Oh, good, you’re home," Lydia chirps, voice beaming with satisfaction. "You’ll never believe what I found for you."

"What?" Stiles says, twirling his pencil when his doorbell rings in the distance. "Lydia, what did you do?"

"Just thank me later," she says, cackling, "I know that book nine is the most anticipated of the series, and just so you know, I got the go ahead from the publishers that we won’t be needing any censor bars."

"What? I can barely draw a naked chest right now, let alone draw you a dick, Lydia," Stiles says, but Lydia simply laughs at him and hangs up.

The doorbell rings again.

Stiles grumbles, dusting graphite dust off of himself and heads for the door. He opens it, and his jaw drops.

There is no way.

It’s like the Benjamin Byte promo poster for _Gunplay_ Book 4 come to life, staring him down with a curious expression. The dark scruffy hair, the jawline, the luminous eyes, _that stubble_ , all of it put together in a gorgeous package standing in Stiles’ doorway.

Stiles’ mouth goes dry and the guy looks at him. “Hi, are you Stiles Stilinski?”

Stiles nods, not trusting that this isn’t some artblock induced hallucination.

"My modeling agency sent me to this address. You needed an anatomy reference, right?"

Stiles nods dumbly, and then the guy smiles at him, bright and sunny. He holds his hand out for Stiles to shake and Stiles takes it, noticing the dark hairs on the guy’s tanned, toned arms, and the strong, firm grip he has.

"I’m Derek Hale. Where do you want me?"

Stiles leads Derek into his studio, trying not to let his nerves get the best of him. He manages not to squeak in embarrassment as he pushes aside clutter and papers, and makes some room in front of his drawing board for Derek to stand.

Derek is looking curiously over his shoulder at the few panels Stiles has completed just before he got stuck: a heated fight between Jake and Benjamin that turns into a love confession, and the last panel is of Jake undoing a button on Benjamin’s shirt.

Derek makes a “hm” noise which sounds kind of approving. “These are good,” he says. “So I’m guessing you need some references for the body poses?”

Stiles flushes a bright red, and he tries to explain the logistics of how he thinks the sex scene would go in his mind, and Derek just nods and starts undressing right then and there, in the middle of Stiles’ living room.

Derek’s broad, naked chest and hairy torso are better than Stiles has ever imagined, lean abdomen running down to muscled thighs and a long, heavy cock hanging from soft dark curls. He turns slightly and Stiles can see the smooth curve of his defined back transitioning into the swell of a perfect ass, and it’s all Stiles can do not to _whimper_.

Derek looks up at Stiles. “Feel free to put me into any position,” he says, standing there and shaking his arms slightly, loosening himself up.

Stiles breathes shakily, and manages to squeak, “Standing is fine for now,” and he picks up his pencil and starts to draw, Derek’s low voice ringing in his ears. Any position. Oh god.

Stiles is so, very, very, fucked.

* * *

 

It’s been an hour and Stiles has sketched out a reasonable likeness of Derek’s gorgeous face, his toned arms, and expanse of his hairy chest, all the way down his abs to the soft line of hair running below his navel, and now Stiles is gulping, trying to keep his concentration, flicking his attention from his sketchpad to Derek’s cock without being obvious that he’s staring. Even flaccid he’s impressive, thick and uncut, and Stiles just wants to put his mouth on it, suck him down and make him moan--

“Is everything alright?” Derek’s voice startles him out of his reverie and Stiles drops his pencil.

“Yup, yup, everything’s fine,” Stiles says, voice going up in a nervous pitch.

Derek raises an eyebrow at him as Stiles reaches down to grab the pencil.

“Do you need me to be hard?”

“What?” Stiles hits his head on the desk as he tries to get back in his seat.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, fine,” Stiles says, rubbing his head. It’s a little sore, but it’s not bad.

“So you need me to be hard, then,” Derek says, casually. “You’re drawing a sex scene, right?”

Stiles just stares at him, and before he can say, Whatever you’re comfortable with, all professionally as he intends to, Derek just starts stroking himself, staring straight ahead, making the most intense eye contact ever possible with Stiles.

Stiles’ mouth just drops open because he can’t look away, and soon Derek’s breaths quicken, his chest starts rising and falling a little faster, and his cock stiffens with the attention, flushing a dark red. Stiles is mesmerized, the way Derek’s large hands run up and down his length, a his cheeks starting to turn slightly red, fingers playing with his foreskin, tugging it back to reveal the head.

“This good?” Derek asks him, and Stiles remembers he’s supposed to be drawing.

“Perfect,” Stiles manages to get out and he shakily returns to his sketch, drawing in Derek’s erection. It’s a bit difficult to pay attention to his work with Derek standing naked and hard right there a few feet away from him, but he does his best, drawing him in as detailed as he can.   

Stiles swallows, finishing the sketch. “All right, you can relax now,” he says, standing up to stretch.

Derek just gives him a small nod, letting go of the pose, but he’s still gloriously naked, and very, very, hard. “Do you mind if I use your bathroom before I go?” he asks politely.

Stiles tries not to stare, but there’s a bead of precome forming at the head of Derek’s cock, gleaming attractively.

“Right around the corner,” Stiles says awkwardly, pointing him in the direction of his bathroom. He settles back into his chair, filling in the sketch where Jake, his protagonist, is laying supine on the bed, splayed out and ready for Derek’s-- no, wait, Benjamin’s-- cock.

Stiles is trying to focus on his character’s expression when he hears a slight groan coming from the bathroom, and he just continues drawing, desperately willing himself not to imagine Derek jerking off in his home.

He’s putting a few finishing touches on Jake’s awed face (at the naked glory in front of him, he better be), when Derek returns, standing behind him and looking curiously at the sketch.

“You’re very talented,” Derek says in a low voice. “It feels like you’ve really captured the heat of the moment.” His lips are so close to Stiles’ ear, he can feel the warmth of his breath. The words hang in the air, moment prolonging until Stiles is excruciatingly aware that Derek is still naked, standing behind him, watching him draw with a-- is that a post-orgasm glow lighting his face? Fuck, Stiles doesn’t want to think about these things.  

“Thank you,” Stiles says, watching as Derek pulls on his clothes. It’s like a reverse strip tease, and somehow still sexy. “So…” Stiles isn’t sure what the etiquette is. Are you supposed to tip your nude models? He doesn’t remember. It feels like there is literally nothing happening in his brain right now except for rapid-fire fantasies about sucking Derek’s cock.

“It was nice to meet you,” Derek says, shaking his hand, completely casual about the fact that he just rubbed one out in Stiles bathroom, and then he’s gone, leaving Stiles dazed, confused, and aroused.

 

 


	2. Development

_Gunplay #9_ is an instant bestseller.

Stiles doesn’t know what to make of it, except Lydia is telling him readers are clamoring for more, more, more. He’s not really sure about sequel concepts because as far as he knows, the storyline is pretty finished, he dragged out that Jake-undercover-as-a-mobster out for such a long time, and the pining, you would think readers would have celebrated Jake and Benjamin finally getting together and called it a day, but apparently not.

“There doesn’t even need to be a crime element, Stiles,” Lydia admonishes him over the phone.

“Maybe the presumed-dead rival boss comes back and kidnaps Ben?” Stiles muses. “Or Jake gets suspended--”

“For having sex with Ben in public, that’s brilliant!” Lydia says gleefully.

“What, no, that’s stupid, who would read that?” Stiles scowls.

“I would,” Lydia says, and okay, Stiles will admit it, he would too. “I know you’re great with plots, just make sure they bang a few times. And switch it up a little, yeah? I think our readers would really love to see Byte bottom.”

“Lydia, I can’t just produce porn for you on command, damnnit, this is art, there has to be a story--”

“Honey, you’ve been dragging out that story for five years now. From all the letters I’ve got, all our readers want right now is their happy ever after, in full frontal detail, in every single position imaginable.”

Which is how Stiles finds himself complaining at the local bar to Scott about his predicament.

“I don’t get it, Stiles,” Scott says, raising his eyebrow as Stiles orders another drink. “I thought you were attracted to him? What’s the problem? Just ask him out.”

“No no no no no,” Stiles mumbles. “I can’t _now_ , he’s getting paid to get naked and stand in sexually suggestive positions for me, it would be weird. Plus, he’s like disturbingly comfortable being naked all the time? I mean the first session we had he just was like, okay, clothes off, do you need me to get hard for you?”

Scott makes a face. “I’m pretty sure nude models don’t just offer to get erect, it’s not really a thing.”

“Yeah, well, he did, Scott, and I don’t know how I’m going to survive this, I really don’t.”

 

* * *

 

The thing about Derek is that he just seems entirely unshaken by the whole thing, and during their second session doesn’t even bat an eye when Stiles blushes and asks him to bend over.

“How’s this?” Derek asks, getting on his hands and knees, ass facing Stiles, all on display, every supple inch of it.

“Yeah,” Stiles says, voice breathy, eyes trailing down the cleft between Derek’s cheeks, pencil twitching in his hands. He’s already blocked out the panels he wants to do for this scene so the modeling session can be as short as possible, limiting the amount of awkward.  

He draws as quickly as he can, getting down the curves of Derek’s back, that little dip, those dimples right above his ass. Stiles crosses his legs, trying to adjust himself even though Derek’s facing away from him and wouldn’t be able to see that he’s got a boner anyways, but it makes him feel better.

Stiles lets Derek know he can stretch and walk around while Stiles gets ready to work on the next panel. He sketches Jake’s face quickly, leaving a space for...  

“Alright, how do you want me?” Derek asks, coming up to stand behind him.

No way, Stiles can’t ask this, he’ll just go watch some porn later. He taps his fingers on the spaces he’s planned out, trying to think, and then he realizes Derek is reading all the little notes he’s made on various sticky notes stuck all over his drawing board.

“Oh, you’re drawing a rimming scene,” Derek says, just as casual as if he’s talking about the weather, standing there without a stitch of clothing on, reading Stiles’ notes planning a sex scene. “I caught up on all your comics, you know. I think it’s nice you’re having Byte bottom, it’s a good way to subvert that trope.”

Stiles turns red. “Um, thanks, so yeah, that’s all for today, I appreciate all your help,” he says, a little too quickly.

Derek raises an eyebrow. “I was paid to be here for three hours; it hasn’t even been forty minutes.

“Well, I--” Stiles starts, but Derek interrupts him by pointing at his notes.

“It says here you’re planning to draw a closeup,” Derek says. “I can do that. I mean, I took a very thorough shower before I got here, so.”

In the blink of an eye Derek’s bent over again, except he’s grabbing his own ass and spreading his cheeks apart for Stiles.

Stiles’ mouth goes dry, staring at the red pucker that’s being revealed to him. Who-- who _does_ this even? Having Derek like this, like he’s just offering himself--

“Do you need to get closer?” Derek asks.

“Yeah--I was just--” Stiles mumbles, grabbing his sketchpad off the board and joining Derek on the couch until that ass is practically in his face. He props his sketchpad up on his knee, trying to draw as much as he can. “So, um, do you model a lot?” he asks, cringing at the stupid question, but he just wants to think of something else, anything.

“Yeah, I do mostly nude classical poses for the art classes at the local college,” Derek says conversationally. “You’re my only one-on-one session, though,” he adds, and Stiles can’t help but feel a little happy about that.

He draws the wrinkled skin around the tight muscle, shading in the taint of darker skin around that opening. It quivers slightly as Derek--oh God, what is he doing, is he clenching himself-- and Stiles’ mind is immediately back in the gutter, thinking about how that ass might feel around his cock, whether Derek would be the kind of guy to ride someone into oblivion, he looks like he would love to top from the bottom--

Fuck.

Stiles can see Derek’s balls twitching slightly from where they hang between his thighs, and cock starting to stiffen, halfway hard. The only sound in the room is their breathing and the sound of Stiles’ pencil scratching away at the paper, and Stiles has to wonder how Derek is getting even aroused right now, is this doing it for him, just Stiles watching him like this?

“Okay, I’m done,” Stiles says, voice tight.

Derek straightens up, rolling his shoulders a bit and then does this thing with his neck that is hell of a lot more sexy than a simple stretch should be. “So the fingering scene is next, then. Do you have any lube?”

“What?” Stiles splutters, and only barely manages to keep holding onto his pencil.

“For the next pose…” Derek says, like it’s completely obvious.

Stiles gets up, setting down the sketchpad and his pencil, sprinting to his bedroom. He finds the bottle of lube in his nightstand and returns to the living room where Derek is just standing at his bookshelf, looking curiously over his collection. He takes the half-empty bottle of lube without comment and squeeze some onto his fingers, rubbing the liquid between his fingers and settles back on the couch, reaching behind himself.

Stiles watches, barely daring to breathe, as Derek pushes a finger inside himself, circling his rim and stretching himself out slightly. He can hear Derek let out a low moan as he presses in the finger further and then adds a second, pushing it inside.

“Is this good?” he asks, voice husky and low.

Stiles nods, then adds a “Yes,” trying not to sound too eager.

He draws as best he can, but it’s difficult to balance his sketchpad on top of his erection, and while Stiles hates drawing hands, he can’t get enough of the way Derek’s fingers look, shiny and slick with lube, pushed inside of himself. They tremble a little, like Derek wants more, and Stiles wants so desperately to grab his hand and help him thrust deeper, to find that spot he’s looking for.

Stiles finishes the drawing as best he can and practically leaps off the couch, holding his sketchpad over his lap. “Okay, thank you, I think time’s up now,” he says before Derek can suggest something else ridiculous because the next panel he’d planned for Jake’s cock to be inside Benjamin’s ass, and Stiles has no idea how Derek would suggest modeling for that (okay, actually he has _plenty_ but they’re all inappropriate).

Derek asks to use his bathroom again and this time Stiles can barely pay attention to the rest of the drawings because he can _hear_ , fuck, is Derek fingering himself while he jerks off?

Stiles just puts aside his sketchpad to finish later because he can’t stand it anymore and quickly unzips and pulls his cock out of his jeans, stroking himself wildly and thinks desperately about what Derek might look right now. Does his face flush? Does he pant with exertion? Is he bent over Stiles’ bathroom sink right now, cock thrusting up into his own hand while he spreads himself open? It’s not difficult to imagine with the quick, breathy gasps and occasional soft moan coming from Stiles bathroom.

Stiles comes in record time, spilling all over his hand and he races to his kitchen to wash up by the sink; he barely manages to pull his jeans back up when Derek emerges from his bathroom, looking extremely satisfied.

“I’ll see you next time,” Derek says with a smile.

“Okay,” Stiles says weakly, hoping it isn’t obvious that he just jerked off as well.

 

* * *

 

 

Stiles is at the publishing office to pick up his check from Lydia, apparently they’re having an issue with the addresses they have on file and just lost everyone’s contact information. Lydia had asked him to come by and pick up his check, which is lame because Stiles knows for sure Lydia knows where he lives, considering how many times she’s shown up at his apartment and thrown various things (pillows, buckets of water) to rouse him out of artist’s block and get him to finish a project or so.

Lydia is typing away in her office, stacks of new comic book covers on her desk for her approval, unfinished panels open as she peruses through them.

“Here,” she says, handing Stiles two envelopes.

“What’s this?” Stiles asks, frowning at the second. There’s a sticky note stuck to it with an address in his neighborhood.

“The modeling agency gave me that as Derek Hale’s address, and I figured I’d save him the trouble of stopping by and just have you deliver it since you live in the area,” Lydia says with a grin.

“No way,” Stiles groans. “This is going to be so weird.”

“Why would it be weird?” Lydia asks, crossing something out and writing something vehemently in red on some poor artist’s panel.

“Nothing, nothing,” Stiles says, backing out of the office with the envelopes.

 

* * *

 

Derek actually lives about ten minutes from Stiles’ apartment, which probably explains how quickly he got to Stiles’ place that first time.

Stiles rings the doorbell, holding the envelope and flipping it over nervously in his hands.

“Stiles!” Derek says warmly when he opens the door. Stiles quickly takes in Derek, who seems be only wearing what looks like an apron, his bare shoulders flexing as he leans against the doorframe. “What brings you around?”

“I, um, my publishing house asked me to bring you your paycheck,” Stiles says, waving the envelope.

“Oh, do you mind setting it on the counter there? I’m in the middle of finishing these muffins.” Derek wiggles his fingers, which are covered in flour. Stiles nods, and Derek steps aside.

As soon as Derek turns around Stiles realizes he actually _is_ only wearing an apron because his ass is just _there_ , taunting him, not covered at all by the little red string holding the apron in place around Derek’s waist.

Stiles can’t look away as he follows Derek into the apartment, watching that naked butt jiggle with every step he takes. He sets the envelope down on a counter, watching Derek pour batter from a bowl into a muffin tin.   
“Okay, I’m just going to go now,” Stiles squeaks out.

Derek frowns. “But I have a batch just about ready, please, you have to stay and try one,” he says, just as the oven dings, and Stiles’ traitorous stomach growls. Okay, it does smell heavenly, but _why_ is Derek naked? It is his place and he can do whatever he wants, but this is so embarrassing, for Stiles at least. Derek doesn’t seem to notice or care about his nudity at all, he washes his hands quickly and grabs an oven mitt, bending over to pull a finished tray of muffins out of the oven. Stiles nearly has a heart attack, and then once more when Derek bends over again to put the other tray in. He really just wants to take a bite out of that juicy, plump--

“Here you go,” Derek says, handing Stiles a muffin. “Watch out, it’s hot.”

“Yeah, you are,” Stiles agrees. “I mean, it is. Yeah.”

Derek doesn’t seem to catch his slip up and Stiles takes a careful bite of the muffin-- it’s blueberry laced with decadent amounts of chocolate and he groans around the bite as the tastes mingle together on his tongue.

“Good?” Derek asks.

“Incredible,” Stiles says, swallowing. He isn’t expecting what happens next and almost chokes when Derek pulls the apron over his head and hangs it up, grabbing his own muffin and walking across the room buck naked, munching on his muffin without a care in the world.

“Hey, do you want to--”

“I-- I really gotta go,” Stiles says, darting for the door. “I, er, thanks for the muffin!”

 

* * *

 

 

 

“Maybe he’s a nudist,” Scott offers not-helpfully.

“Okay, you’re not helping me here, buddy, first you’re telling me he’s coming on to me, and now you’re saying the nakedness is just part of his life choices and it’s not specific to me or anything, thanks,” Stiles says, ordering another beer.

“Well, you didn’t stay long enough to find out,” Scott says. “Maybe he wanted you to hang out.”

Stiles groans, pressing his face to the bar.

“That’s gross, Stiles,” Erica says, making a face from behind the bar. “You don’t know what’s been on that. And I’m also cutting you off, you’re scaring the other customers.”

Stiles picks himself off the bar and Scott, the traitor, nods in agreement with Erica. “You are looking kind of pathetic right now.”

 

* * *

 

Stiles doesn’t know why he let Scott and Allison drag him to the beach, and he’s pinning their “We’re just trying to pull you out of your weird funk with the awkward crush you have on your always naked model” as more of an excuse for them wanting to try something new. He forgets what’s specific about this beach, maybe there’s a bar right on the sand? That must be it. They’ve run off somewhere for an hour now and Stiles just wants to go home. He’s tired of sitting alone so he packs up their towels and stuff in the car and starts walking along the shore, looking for them when he realizes this is a _very_ different section of the beach. For one thing, no one is wearing a swimsuit.

Stiles makes a disgusted sound and turns away from the old man jogging past him, wrinkled balls dangling as he goes, and he scans the area. Is this where Scott and Allison went off to, did they want to try some public nudity thing, and why did they have to bring him along?

He can see in the distance what looks likes Scott and Allison laughing in the water, splashing each other. “Hey!” Stiles yells, waving at them, but they must be too far away to hear him. He runs towards them, huffing in annoyance, passing nude beach-goers.

Stiles runs smack into a volleyball net because he wasn’t paying attention, and falls flat into the sand.

He must have hit his head harder than he thought because he’s looking at a very familiar set of cock and balls.

“Oh, hi, Stiles,” Derek says, offering him a hand to help him up. His hands are large and warm against Stiles’ palm as he pulls Stiles to a standing position like he doesn’t weigh a thing.

Derek just grins at him, holding a volleyball on his hip, practically beaming, the afternoon light hitting his sunkissed skin _everywhere_.  

At least Stiles knows how Derek doesn’t have any tanlines at all.

“Want to join us? We are short a player,” Derek says, tilting his head at another two guys standing in the volleyball court. “This is Isaac and Boyd.” They’re naked as well, but Stiles’ body doesn’t seem to notice at all, the only thing he’s reacting to is Derek standing in front of him shamelessly flaunting his _everything_.

“You’re not really dressed for this beach, though,” Derek says, eyeing Stiles’ swim trunks.

Stiles shuffles backwards in embarrassment-- he can’t even be sure around himself when Derek is naked when he at least has the shield of his own clothing, he can’t be _naked_ in front of everyone, his boner would be so obvious and weird--

“I, er-- was just looking for my friends-- ah, there they are!”

And he just runs directly into the ocean, diving headfirst into the salty tide.

 

* * *

 

“I’m confused,” Scott says as they turn in their borrowed tennis rackets at the gym. “So you saw Derek at the beach and he asked you to hang out, and you ran away?”

“It was a nude beach, Scott, and I’m still mad at you and Allison for bringing me with you guys and not telling me that was happening,” Stiles says as they walk back towards the locker room.

“Aw, she said you probably would have appreciated the view. Plus you saw Derek! Bet that was nice,” Scott says.

“No, not nice, Scott, it’s like my dick is conditioned now, okay-- see Derek, get hard. Do you know how awkward that is? These are not great conditions for asking someone out, Scott! And it doesn’t help that he’s like, always naked.” Stiles runs his hands through his hair, groaning with exasperation. He stretches, body aching as Scott pulls the locker room door open. “Man, Scott, did you really have to practice all of your down-the-line shots today?”

Scott grins. “Gotta keep you in shape! Plus I think my serve has really improved.”

They find their lockers, changing out of their sweaty clothing and Stiles notices a sign near the showers.

“Hey, they finally fixed the sauna! Wanna check it out?”

“Nah, I’m just gonna shower and head home, Allison’s making dinner,” Scott says. “You should totally do it, since I kicked your ass so bad at tennis your muscles probably need it.”

Stiles flicks his sweaty t-shirt at Scott, earning him a fond and exasperated look. “Whatever, you’re the one missing out on the steamy hot bliss of sauna relaxation with the Stiles!”

Scott just laughs. “Okay, well the Stiles can tell me all about it later.” He claps his hands on Stiles’ bare shoulder, making his way towards the showers, whistling.

Stiles makes sure his towel is fastened tight on his hip and he walks over to the newly-refurbished sauna room, flip-flops squeaking on the tiled floor.

A cloud of steam wafts around him and Stiles steps into the wooden room. The warm humid air wraps around him like a thick blanket, and it takes him awhile to adjust, but man does it feel nice. Stiles is the only one in the sauna so he commandeers an entire bench on one of the higher levels, sprawling out on his stomach and sighing with contentment as his muscles relax. He closes his eyes, drifting away a little, face flat on the warm wood of the bench. There’s sweat oozing out of his pores and probably all those toxins and stuff too that saunas always market towards the health-conscious, but Stiles doesn’t really care, it just feels amazing.

The door squeaks open and Stiles says, without opening his eyes, “Pour another thing of water over the rocks so we get more steam, yeah?”  

“Sure, no problem.”

Stiles can hear the other guy take a few steps and there’s the hiss of water hitting hot rocks, and then some more steps, but he doesn’t hear him sit down anywhere. There’s a few soft exhales though, which is enough to make Stiles curious. He probably did snag the best spot in the sauna, he’s practically taken over the best section.

“Dude, did you want me to scoot over or something, because I totally can, and you know heat rises, and this is the best and hottest spot,” Stiles says.

“No worries, I’m just doing a bit of Hot Yoga,” is the response, which of course Stiles wants to know what it is, and he turns over.

Of all the saunas in all the gyms, just-- _how_ \--

Derek Hale is standing in the middle of the sauna room, a towel not around his waist but dangling from his neck, doing some sort of complicated stretch that involves sticking his bare ass out and extending his arms, knees slightly locked as he lowers his entire body. Stiles can see the muscles ripple underneath his golden skin, beads of sweat dripping down the spine. There’s a tattoo between his shoulder blades, dark spirals that shudder as Derek stretches his arms out and then just dips into a bending position, hands on the ground, arching his back.

Derek’s face turns towards Stiles’ own and breaks out into a smile. “Stiles! It’s good to see you. I didn’t know you use this gym.”

“I don’t really come here a lot,” Stiles says. He uses Scott’s guest pass because he never figured he’d use the gym facilities enough to warrant a membership; plus, Stiles doesn’t think he can handle getting his ass kicked by Scott in various sports all the time.

Derek once again seems completely unphased by the fact that he’s not wearing a stitch of clothing. Maybe he’s just used to it, being a nude model and all.

“You should have stayed for the volleyball game the other day, it was pretty fun,” Derek remarks, and then casually just kicks his feet up into a handstand, towel around his neck flopping to the floor.

Stiles is a little stunned by the display of strength and is slow to respond. “Oh, um, sorry, I would have hung out, but I don’t really--”

“Nudity isn’t really your thing?” Derek asks with an amused smile, and is he really-- yes, he’s doing a pushup _upside down_.

Stiles is torn between feeling woefully inadequate in comparison and also incredibly aroused.

“Yeah,” he says, realizing how ridiculous he sounds after taking forever to respond, but hey, he can’t really help it, okay, Derek’s ass moving up and down in front of him, right in front of his face, muscles taut and shifting with every move, gleaming with sweat-- it’s enough to mesmerize anyone into silence.

Derek kicks his feet over and falls into a neat back bend, inhales and exhales, and then stands up. “It’s not for everyone,” he says, picking his towel up and sitting down next to Stiles. Derek places the towel over his groin and winks at Stiles. “Better?”

Stiles can feel his face heat up, and it’s not because of the sauna.

“I’m just teasing you,” Derek says lightly. “I figured you’d be okay with it, since you’ve drawn me _au naturel_ before.”

“Nudity doesn’t bother me,” Stiles says quickly.

Derek raises an eyebrow. “Really? You seemed kind of uncomfortable at my apartment, and then when I ran into you at the beach.”

Stiles sits up, stretching slightly, feeling the sweat trickle down between his thighs and underneath his towel. It’s hot, way too hot, and he’s extremely aware of Derek’s gorgeous face close to his, and miles and miles of bare skin.

“Um,” Stiles says, trying to think of a way to say that nudity in general doesn’t bother him, it just happens to be Derek’s naked body that affects him like this. At least with Derek’s cock covered by the towel Stiles isn’t constantly distracted. And normally-- normally Stiles has game, alright? Like if he met a fully-clothed Derek at a coffee shop somewhere Stiles would have had no problem getting his flirt on.

But Derek confidently, casually nude, like he does this all the time?

Stiles has no idea what to do.

“Do I make you uncomfortable, Stiles?” Derek asks, raising an eyebrow. He’s almost but not quite leaning into Stiles’ space, and Stiles watches a bead of sweat trickle down his chest. He wants to reach out so badly to see how soft that chest hair is, see how firm those pecs are, and those nipples look _so_ sensitive--

“That’s not really the word I’d use,” Stiles says, hoping his boner isn’t visible under his towel. He crosses his legs, just in case and folds his hands over his crotch as well.

“I would hate to make you uncomfortable,” Derek says, frowning a little. “It’s a shame you couldn’t stick around after I made muffins that time. I really wanted to ask you about this graphic novel I’m reading, since you’re an artist and all, but you left so soon. And it would have been fun to hang out with you at the beach.”

“Yeah, I just--” Stiles is barely keeping track of Derek’s words, vaguely aware that Derek wanted to spend time with him, like a person he thinks is interesting, but his cock is more interested in how droplets of sweat are glistening on Derek’s upper lip, wobbling as he talks, and then one fat drop breaks and rolls down the plump seam of his dusky pink lips, leaving a wet trail. All Stiles can think about now is that thing where the color of a guy’s lips will match the color of his dick, so now he’s thinking about Derek’s dick again and imagining it, which is stupid because he has actually seen it, aching hard and dripping, right in his living room.

Stiles totally missed out on what Derek’s been saying.

“What?” he asks, embarrassed.

“Oh, I was just wondering what you were doing after this. They make a good smoothies at the Shake Shack right outside the gym. Care to join me?”

Stiles blinks. “Wait-- is this a date?”

Derek looks at him with an amused smile. “It can be,” he says, and he stands up, subjecting Stiles to the view of his ass again as he walks to the sauna door. “I’m going to take a shower. I’ll see you there in a bit?”

Stiles nods, too dazed to say anything. Derek grins and opens the door to leave, the steam in the sauna rushing out and a blast of cool air churning into the room. Derek turns back and adds, “I’ll be wearing clothes this time.”

And with a cheeky wink he’s gone.

 

* * *

 

After a cold, _cold_ shower, Stiles gets dressed quickly, wishing fervently he had something nicer to wear other than the faded tracksuit he tossed in his duffle bag at the last minute. There’s nothing for it now, he just pulls on the matching red pants and jacket. He looks like an idiot, Stiles thinks as he passes by a mirror on the way out of the gym. Well, at least he’s an idiot with a date.

Derek’s sitting at one of those weird high tables, dressed in a soft blue t-shirt and jeans. He waves at Stiles, and Stiles pulls out the stool and sits down as Derek holds out up a colorful cup with the Shake Shack’s signature twisty straws.

“I got you strawberry banana, is that okay? It’s the special for today,” Derek says.

“Oh, thanks,” Stiles says, taking the cup and drawing a sip. The smoothie is sweet, with just the right amount of consistency. It’s nice; he hasn’t had a chance to try this place out.

And then they’re talking, conversation flowing smoothly as water; Derek is from a family of naturalists, apparently, and has grown up with nudity all his life. He bakes for his sister’s vegan bakery when he’s not modeling and has a dry, deadpan humor that Stiles immediately adores. It’s not difficult at all to flirt with Derek like this, to draw his tongue out and swirl it along the straw suggestively, watching Derek’s eyes track the movement of his lips pursing around the straw, ears turning pink.

It’s cute, the way Derek is almost painfully shy, blushing in reaction to Stiles flicking his tongue around a straw.

Stiles leaves the Shake Shack with a skip in his step, Derek’s phone number programmed into his phone and the promise of watching the new Avengers movie tomorrow with him.  

 

* * *

 

 

Dating Derek is fun, it really is, and Stiles is more than happy to take it slow-- they go to the movies and hold hands, laughing and sharing popcorn together. Stiles meets Derek’s sister, Cora, and tries all the different vegan baked goods at their store. He gets flour on his nose and Derek wipes it off as he teaches Stiles his favorite brownie recipe. Derek is a great sounding board for new comics ideas and he’s easy to talk to. Stiles is quickly, quickly smitten, and he doesn’t want to mess it up.

They’ve only kissed once, and it was a magical three seconds when Stiles had dropped Derek off at his apartment after their last date. Derek had swooped in, pressing a quick, chaste kiss to Stiles’ lips, smiled at him, said “See you next time,” and then left him stunned on the doorstop, touching his lips in amazement.

Stiles has never been this affected by anyone more. He doesn’t want to make it weird, not at all, and he can tell Derek put in a great amount of effort to reduce the casually nude situations. Which has helped a lot, actually, in Stiles’ ability to form coherent sentences around Derek.

They’re at a bowling alley with Scott and Allison, and Derek is talking animatedly with Scott at the bowling lane.

“I like him,” Allison says, winking at Stiles. “It’s funny, all the stories Scott told me about how you kept running away from him, I’m glad you guys got together.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Stiles scoffs. “I did not run away. You have no idea how intimidating he is when he’s naked.”

Allison raises her eyebrows. “I can imagine,” she says with a mischievous grin. “I bet the sex is amazing.”

Stiles nearly drops the bowling ball he’s holding onto his toes. “We actually haven’t,” he says, blushing.

“Really?” Allison asks. “Stiles, Mister-I-couldn’t-keep-it-in-my-pants all through college? You once told me you had sex in a restaurant kitchen because you couldn’t wait to get home with your date.”

“Shush,” Stiles says, watching Scott laugh at something Derek’s saying. “I don’t want to pressure him into sex. I like where we’re at.”

“You guys have been dating for what, three weeks?” Allison grins at him. “You’ve had entire relationships shorter than that.”

“Okay, well, I like Derek a lot,” Stiles says, shrugging.

Allison points an accusing finger at him. “I think you’re scared to have sex with him.”

“No, no I’m not,” Stiles says, watching Scott bowl a perfect strike and give Derek a high five.

“You said he’s intimidating when naked,” she quips.

Stiles tries to come up with an comeback to that, but he can’t because it’s the truth.

 


	3. Climax

A few days later, Stiles is busy, hunched over his drawing board, sketching out a bloody and bruised Jake. He’s surprised when the doorbell rings and Derek’s standing behind the door with a casual smile. “Hey, Stiles,” he says warmly.

“Um, you’re early for dinner?” Stiles says, rubbing his nose. “I’m actually working right now.” He’s in the middle of a series of action sequences where Jake and Ben fight off a drug lord. It’s a bit gritty, but fun, and he’s happy that Lydia hasn’t said anything about his extended plotline for _Gunplay #10._

“Oh, yeah, I’m actually here for that?” Derek walks into the apartment, cool as a cucumber and grabs the hem of his shirt.

“Whoa whoa whoa-- what?” Stiles splutters.

“Your editor called me and said you needed some inspiration for your book, because there’s only been one sex scene in it so far.” Derek raises his eyebrows and shrugs his way out of his shirt, naked chest seeming to mock him, as if it was calling out, _touch me, Stiles, run your fingers all over the soft hair going down to my--_

“Um, okay, fine,” Stiles says, flipping over to a clean page in his sketchpad. He’s going to talk to Lydia later, he can’t believe this, she totally said it going to be fine with one sex scene. “Are you sure this isn’t going to be weird?” he asks, as Derek unzips his jeans.

“Why would it be weird?” Derek asks, pulling down the denim to reveal a pair of tight briefs. The jeans bunch up around his thighs as he steps out of them.

“Because we’re dating now?”

“You’ve seen me naked before.” Derek looks up, giving him a look.

“Yeah, but now I--” Stiles sighs, picking up his pencil and tapping it against the paper.

Derek steps closer and smiles, and he rubs his hands along Stiles’ shoulders. “Look you can tell me, it’s okay,” he says.

“What?”

“I know nudity and sexual things in real life make you uncomfortable, and I just wanted to say it doesn’t change the fact that I want to be in a relationship with you,” Derek says. “Asexuality is a perfectly normal--”

“Wait a minute, I’m not asexual,” Stiles says, confused. “What makes you think that?”

“The first time we met I practically jerked off in front of you,” Derek says, puzzled. “And you were incredibly uncomfortable. Then all the other times we met when I was nude you always looked like you wanted to leave-- and all this time we’ve been dating you take care not to touch me.”

“Oh my God, that first time I was trying to be _professional_!” Stiles exclaims. “Do you know how difficult that was? And then I figured you wanted to take it slow when you didn’t make a move! I didn’t want to scare you off and have you think I only liked you for your body!”

“Oh.” Derek blinks at him. “So you… do want to have sex with me.”

Stiles nods frantically. “Yes, yes I do-- mmph!”

Derek’s hands grip his waist, jerking him forward, and the pencil falls to the floor and Stiles is _seized_ in a whirlwind of a kiss, a hot tongue thrusting forward desperately into his mouth. It’s dizzying, the way Derek manhandles him out of his own shirt with alarming efficiency, peppering his jawline with hot, wet kisses, mouthing down his throat, stubble scraping at Stiles’ skin.

Derek tugs on Stiles belt, slapping his ass when it catches on the clasp, refusing to open. “I wanna see you,” Derek says, eyes dark with desire.

Stiles gets the clasp open and Derek’s yanking at his pants, nosing at the bulge in his boxers and there’s a hot breath and then Derek’s sucking his dick through the fabric and wow, Stiles did not know that could be that hot. He shudders, the pressure and the friction of the damp fabric teasing him, and Derek’s large hands are holding onto his ass.

Stiles’ knees go weak and he almost loses his balance, tripping over the jeans around his ankles, but Derek maneuvers him to the couch, setting him down. He pulls the hem of Stiles’ boxers down with his teeth eagerly, reaching for his cock--

“Derek, you can’t just-- I want to--” Stiles breathes out, grabbing Derek’s hips and pulling his ass forward until he tumbles onto the couch on top of Stiles. Stiles gets Derek’s briefs down to his thighs and licks his way down that thick shaft just as Derek gets his mouth around his own cock. The hot tight wetness of his mouth and the way he uses his tongue should be illegal, and Stiles can barely concentrate on the cock in his own mouth. Derek tastes of skin and sweat and that salty bitterness of precome, and Stiles loves how his thighs quiver when he swallows him down, nuzzling those dark coarse hairs at the base of his cock. He palms Derek’s ass, fingers dipping between the cheeks and just as he presses gently on the outer rim of his hole, Derek lets out a low moan, arching into his finger.

Stiles feels lightheaded and dizzy with want, and he can’t focus on giving Derek the long, drawn-out blowjob he’s fantasized about for so long because his own cock is hitting the back of Derek’s throat, a pleased hum vibrating around his girth from Derek’s lips, and there’s a gentle tugging on his balls, and Stiles can hardly think with the way he can taste Derek’s pulse in his cock right now-- he just needs to--

Stiles slaps Derek’s ass, the muscles vibrating underneath his hand, bouncing back up to meet his palm as he draws his lips off Derek’s cock, a wet trail of saliva stretching between them. “Hey,” Stiles says breathily, and Derek just lets out a low sound of enthusiastic agreement, mouth sucking eagerly away. Stiles can see his cock bobbing in Derek’s throat from this angle, the outline of it in Derek’s cheeks. “I can’t get the lube if you’re--”

Derek lets go, Stiles’ cock slapping against his stomach, wet from Derek’s attention. He tumbles back onto the couch, eyes ablaze, saying huskily, “Yeah, are you-- I wanna--”

Stiles doesn’t have far to look; the lube is sitting in one of the coffee table drawers from where he was too lazy to move it from Derek’s last modeling session. He stumbles off the couch, jeans bunching around his ankles until he finally steps out of them, standing naked while he rummages through the drawer. Stiles can practically feel the Derek’s heated gaze and when he turns around, holding the bottle, Derek’s sitting on the couch, briefs still pulled down to his thighs, stroking himself lazily and watching Stiles with anticipation. Somehow the fact that he’s still slightly dressed sends a thrill down Stiles’ spine.

Stiles grins, leaning in for a kiss; he can taste himself on Derek’s tongue, can feel the way Derek sighs into it, like he’s been thinking about it for a long time. It’s soft and easy, and Stiles forgets for awhile his train of thought, losing himself in Derek’s warm arms wrapping around him, bare skin rubbing against each other and cocks sliding together. It’s as easy as breathing, just a conversation in a series of touches, initial fervor slowed down to a steady pace, kisses pressed to the corners of mouths, lips tracing planes of skin, fingers skimming, exploring.

The bottle of lube hits the floor, jolting Stiles out of the slow dream as the liquid starts to spill out onto the floor. Derek is moving down his collarbone, leaving open-mouthed kisses. “Derek, you still want to--?” Stiles asks, reaching a hand out for the lube, and Derek just nods, grabbing the bottle and squirting an ample amount into his hand. He spreads it onto his fingers, and Stiles has a distinct sense of déjà vu, except this time he’s right next to Derek without a sketchpad between them, watching as Derek turns over and slipping a finger inside himself.

Stiles forgets he has permission to touch, now, until Derek moans, “Stiles,” in a desperate whimper and Stiles takes Derek’s hand, smearing the lube between them. He squeezes Derek’s hand and he relaxes, letting it fall to his side and he shifts, presenting his ass to Stiles, hole shiny and slightly puffy.

Stiles eases a finger in, then two, watching as Derek’s ass swallows him up, skin tightening around him as Derek clenches down. He places his other hand on the small of Derek’s back, sliding it down along the curve of his body as Derek exhales.

“Did you think about this?” Stiles asks, pressing his fingers in further, curling them up inside Derek. “You’ve jerked off in my bathroom twice after a session, was this what you were thinking about?”

“Yeah,” Derek says, turning his head slightly so Stiles can see his face all flushed dark with arousal. “I thought about you watching me touch myself, wondered if you wanted me.” His voice is rough, broken and it changes pitch when Stiles finds that specific bundle of nerves and presses _down,_ watching Derek gasp and tremble. “Want you to take me like this,” he says.

“Don’t move, you look gorgeous,” Stiles whispers, pressing a kiss to the base of his neck. He withdraws his fingers and Derek twitches, but he doesn’t move from the couch.

It’s a quick jaunt to the bathroom and Stiles unwraps a condom quickly, rolls it onto his dick and darts back into the living room.

Derek is an absolute vision, knees on the couch, legs splayed, ass in the air, upper body pressed to the back of the seat, eyes closed. He actually hasn’t moved at all; his briefs are still pulled down just under the swell of his ass, arms hanging loosely at his sides.

“Stiles,” Derek says, voice breaking a little.

Stiles lines up behind him, and they both groan together as Stiles’ cock slips inside in a smooth motion. Inch by inch he gives himself, and Stiles closes his eyes and tilts his head back until all he can feel is Derek surrounding him. Stiles places a hand on Derek’s hip, feeling the blood race hotly beneath his skin, and then reaches up to tangle his fingers in Derek’s hair.

At the first thrust they both fall into the couch, then the series of slow then increasingly faster rolls of Stiles hips, and soon Stiles can’t decide whether he’s doing more of the fucking or Derek’s bucking back so hard into him Stiles is just standing still.

Derek keeps turning around for kisses, though, and Stiles is probably missing out on some amazing facial expressions, so he pulls out and flips Derek onto his back. Derek lands with a soft thud into the couch cushions, and yeah, changing positions was definitely the right idea; he can see all of Derek’s face now, that chiseled jaw and open mouth, eyes dilated so far there’s hardly any color in the pupils. Stiles grabs Derek’s thighs and presses him forward, legs doubling over until Derek is looking at him between his ankles.  

Stiles holds onto the eye contact as he pushes in again until their hips are flush; Stiles’ whole body is aching, pressing in harder, and _yeah_ that must be Derek’s prostate he’s hitting, the way Derek’s body shudders and he bites his lip.

The only sound in the room is the filthy _slap slap slap_ of flesh, their hurried breathing, the wet sounds of their mouths when they kiss, the couch skidding on the floor with every stroke Stiles drives into Derek. He’s so tight and feels so warm, so good, so perfect. Stiles grabs onto the boxer briefs stretched around Derek’s ankles now-- its fucking amazing that they’re still on-- pushing them and Derek down. Derek’s eyes widen and his hands reach out, digging into Stiles’ ass-- yeah, he likes it.

Stiles thrusts harder until they’re both panting, Derek’s name falling out of his mouth like a prayer, watching Derek’s thick cock bounce in front of him, precome attractively down the shaft. Stiles takes a hand to smear it around the head of Derek’s cock and then vigorously jerking him as well. Derek’s close, he can feel it in the way Derek’s breaths are hitching closer together and his body is tensing, ass clenched tight around his cock. Derek comes spectacularly, spilling all over his stomach, quivering in pleasure as Stiles continues to rut into him, slowing down until Derek says, “Yeah, Stiles, give it to me, wanna see you lose it--”

And Stiles falls forward into him, heat coiling through his core as the orgasm shakes through him. He’s still shaking as he pulls out, rapid breaths spilling out of him as he rests on top of Derek’s come-splattered chest. They’re a mess of sweat and lube and come, and when Derek’s legs curl around him and those black briefs finally fall to the floor Stiles lets out a small, hysterical laugh.

Derek chuckles with him and then sighs contentedly.

“That was amazing,” Stiles says. “I can’t believe it took us this long to do this.”

“Yeah,” Derek says. “Definitely worth it, though.”

Stiles can’t help but agree.

**Author's Note:**

>  _This work is intended for the private enjoyment of the reader. I do not give permission to this work being read aloud and/or shared with the press, or anyone working on said production of_ Teen Wolf, _including but not limited to cast, crew, writers, or producers. I also do not give permission share this work on third-party websites such as Goodreads, which I believe is a resource intended for published works outside of fandom._
> 
> ~
> 
> You can find me on tumblr [here.](http://www.bleep0bleep.tumblr.com)

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Модельное поведение](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12264288) by [Bast (Bastet_Seith)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bastet_Seith/pseuds/Bast)




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